


I'm Not Lonely

by GopherGal



Category: Halloween Movies - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff, I mean this is michael we're talking about though you should know what you're in for, Main girl is afraid of mikey so if that bothers you click out, Murder, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slow Burn, Stalking, depictions of violence, so that's gonna be something to look out for, there's animal death later on though
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-12
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-18 11:48:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29368029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GopherGal/pseuds/GopherGal
Summary: Jean always heard the the horrible stories about what happened to women who live alone, but she never thought that she'd end up as one of the subjects of those stories. When the murderous Michael Myers breaks into her home, an instinctual act of kindness saves her life. Though maybe, just maybe, her life would have been better had it ended that night...***Or, in the genius words of CactusCowboy"Jean: being super tender and nice to him even though he LITERALLY JUST BROKE INTO HER HOUSE AND THREATENED HER WITH A KNIFEMyers: hmm kill good"
Relationships: Michael Myers/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 19





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a rewrite of an older fic of mine by a similar, but longer name. I'm much happier with this though, and hope y'all like it too! To be clear, this takes place after H2, but ignores 4-5 and h20

Houses passing by slowly drift farther apart as the car bulleted forward on the empty road out of town. Clouds overhead obscured the moon and stars that Jean loved so dearly. Instead, the world was masked in inky blackness, save for the headlights and few porch lights left on by the sleepy residents inside. Beyond that, there was nothing, just the varying shades of black that made up the road, trees, and sky. It was a quiet night, _Halloween night_ , she reminded herself. Seems that if you have no kids to take trick or treating and no parties to get drunk at that Halloween is just a date on the calendar. A block of black up ahead drew closer. It was her home, the house she'd inherited when her grandfather passed away. The old man had always been taken good care of her and, even after death, still kept that up.

“ _Thirteen dead and two injured tonight after a killing spree perpetrated, possibly, by an escaped patient of Smith's Grove Sanitarium. The suspect, one Michael Audrey Myers, is thought to have been caught in an explosion at Haddonfield Memorial Hospital, though police urge residents of the surrounding area to remain cautious until further notice,”_ the radio droned as Jean tiredly pulled her car into the driveway. Jean shook her head, dirty blond locks sweeping across her face as she frowned. _The world's really gone downhill when things like this happen every day_ , she thought, _or maybe I just never noticed how cruel it can be_. 

A shiver ran down her spine as she thought about the madman running amok, murdering innocents. Mentally, she slapped herself.  _Keep your cool, Jean._ No way could a loony like that evade capture for long. Hell, he might even be lost in the woods, looking around wildly as coyotes sized him up for a meal. He was probably dead, or at least would wish he were. She couldn't be losing her head over something the police could handle. She was safe here. That name though- It sounded familiar. 

The moon was already high in the sky when she finally pulled open her front door, kicked off her shoes on the mat, and shrugged her coat off, stretching the stiff muscles of her shoulders. It had been a late shift. That was never a problem for Jean though. She didn't have anyone waiting for her at home and everyone knew it, so she was a good choice for late nights. Not that she minded. Jolene, her co worker, liked to lecture to her about getting out there and “catching herself a man”. Well, to Jean, dating was a tiresome and pointless game, and it wasn't like she had a line of suitors waiting to sweep her off her feet. Keys clinked in the dish where they were set and Jean ran a hand through her hair, her body rapidly growing heavy with exhaustion as the day caught up to her. Thinking back on it, she'd never been very popular. No problem though. Popularity didn't matter if you didn't want it to, and Jean was perfectly happy on her own.

She slipped by the kitchen, grabbing first for an apple then, remembering granddad's lectures about “eating heartily and eating well”, prepared a sandwich instead. Lazily she took a bite, too tired to care about how it tasted. Without thought, she flipped on the radio. For a moment she stood in front of the table, knowing very well that getting ready for sleep would zap what was left of her dwindling supply of energy, but not wanting to go to bed. She would have time to read a book if she put off brushing her teeth. She'd recently gotten a copy of that book Jolene recommended to her. Some horror story about a hotel.  _The Shining_ , she thought it was called. Jo seemed to like it quite a bit, but Jean had never been a big fan of horror. She often found the protagonists a bit stupid and would reluctantly admit to being easily spooked by those kind of stories. Still, she'd wanted to give it a chance, but hadn't yet had a chance to start reading it. 

With the last crumb of bread stuffed into her mouth, she grabbed her pen and pad of paper to jot down a note to buy more bread. Tomorrow would be a good day for laundry and relaxation, she thought. Sunny and warm according to the forecast, as much as early November can be. It would be a good day off, she decided. She finally surrendered to her exhaustion, the need for sleep driving her through her routine. She only briefly stopped to look in the mirror, examining the dark circles under her eyes. She sighed, flopping into bed unceremoniously and snuggling into the soft covers. Exhaustion overtook her and the comforting dark arms of sleep came easily.

_THUMP_ . Jean bolted upright, panic flooding her veins as she became aware of her surroundings. A stone sunk in her guts as she realized that she could not remember locking the door. She groped beneath the bed for the baseball bat she kept for home defense. She cursed herself silently for not taking granddad up on his offer for shooting lessons all those years ago, Her nerves were not calmed as she slid her hand over the smooth wood of her weapon. She had a white knuckle grip on the bat to keep her hands from shaking as she padded silently down the stairs, avoiding the creaky last step with practiced ease. She kept to the wall as she entered the living room, her terror striking her mute as she beheld the sight before her. Upon her couch, covered in blood and soot, lay a strange man, the ragged rise and fall of his chest her only indication that he wasn't a corpse. He shifted, mask clad head turning to her before he sprung up to shaky feet, filthy knife held defensively in his wavering grip. Even from here she could see the shaking of his large hands. 

“Woah! Woah, hold it, big fella!” She exclaimed, bat extended in the space between them, “I'm not going to hurt you, not unless you hurt me first” A stupid thing to say honestly, given that he had a great deal of height and mass over her and, even injured as she believed him to be, could likely subdue her with ease. Not to mention the fact that he was an _intruder._ Logic seemed to leave her when she needed it most, it seemed. She swallowed thickly as he tilted his head, seeming to consider her words. His hand came to hang at his side, the knife loose in his fist. She lowered her home defense, her gaze still shifting nervously as she searched for his eyes behind the mask. A futile effort, for all she could glimpse was the sunken blackness of the eye holes.

“Why don't you take a seat. Wouldn't want you to pass out in the middle of my living room floor. You're a bit too big for me to carry,” she said as she studied his person to see what injuries he'd sustained. _Jesus Christ,_ she thought, _has he been fucking shot?_ Indeed, the telltale entry wounds were present, six in total, on his chest, arms, and leg. The dark blood that had bloomed around them was beginning to dry. The man all but fell to the couch, his sudden weight making the springs creak slightly. 

“I'm willing to bet good money that you've been hurt pretty badly from the look of you. But 911 isn't really an option now, not with the breaking and entering, y'know.” The intruder remained stone still, as he'd been since he sat down. Jean fidgeted, thinking of what to do next. “Since going to the hospital probably isn't an option for you, I could patch you up, if you want. I mean, I'm no doctor, but it's better than nothing.”

At the mention of “hospital” he seemed to stiffen, if only slightly. The offer to tend his wounds seemed to relax him again. Though maybe she was looking too deeply into things. “I'll go ahead and get the kit, you- well you need to strip down a bit so I can help you.” She didn't wait for an answer of any kind before she began up the stairs, her full weight coming down on the squeaky step in her rush. She was playing nurse to the strange man- strange  _masked_ man, she corrected- that had broken into her home and threatened her with a knife. The ridiculousness of the situation, the pure stupidity of it all, was not lost on her, but now she was on autopilot. Moving without thinking. 

With the first aid kit and water basin now safely in her arms, she moved down the stairs purposefully, almost hoping that her unwelcome guest had left or had been a dream. Her hopes were dashed when she saw him there, partially undressed, on her couch. For how scorched his jumpsuit was he had relatively few burns. In fact, the biggest one was about the size of a hand on his left side. It had blistered, but the rubbing of cloth must have caused them to rupture, leaving them as seeping open wounds. The gunshot wounds were concerning though. They were hard to see under all the crusty dried blood, but she knew that the bullets had to go.

Drawing nearer, she saw on the coffee table sat five bullets, droplets of red pooling around them as the masked man's thick, grubby fingers set down the last one. Jean blinked, then decided it wasn't worth the shock, horror, or confusion. She just needed to tend to him, get some sleep, and wake up from this weird dream. If she was quick enough, she could let it fade from her memory with no problems. Carefully, she cleaned the wounds, watching as the water changed from it's original crystal clear state into a murky red. His wounds, however, looked better than they had before. She dressed them with ointment and bandage, every movement slow and deliberate as she treated the wounds.

She lent to him an old pair of jeans and a button down her granddad had owned. Anything would be better than those grubby coveralls. The more she thought, the more she realized that not all the blood on them could possibly be his, but she pushed it from her mind. The sooner he was out of here, the better. And that would be much faster if she cooperated. _You'll regret this later,_ a small voice, probably her common sense, told her. _Maybe I will,_ she thought in response, _but I'll burn that bridge when I get there._

With everything being returned to it's proper place in the box and the filthy water drained into the sink, she looked to him, a slight nervous grin on her lips, “You'd better get some rest then. Those wounds won't heal up very well otherwise.” He looked in her direction in a way that her exhausted mind read as unsure, yet confused. With a sleepy stagger, she made her way up the stairs to her room. The door slammed slightly behind her as she entered the room, the sound of it echoing throughout the room. She greeted the bed readily, succumbing to unconsciousness as soon as she hit the soft pillows.

Downstairs, the man, now wearing another stranger's clothes, sat on the couch. His mind working to weigh the options at hand. The immediate pleasure of stalking up the stairs and watching the light fade from her eyes as he stripped her life from her was tempting, but this woman, she was useful to him. More-so alive than dead, he figured. And so, he would wait. He was very patient; He'd needed to be for 15 years and could wait just a bit longer for her death. The very thought of it satisfied him.

The night's hunt had been less than successful. Prey had escaped. He'd been injured. And the Doctor- he'd tried to kill him; tried to shoot him dead. Not that it surprised him. Doctor Loomis had promised him for years that he would be killed if he stepped out of line. No matter. He was free now. He could not be stopped. And anyone who tried to stop him would simply become more prey for him. There was only one that had escaped him and she would be hunted, caught like a rat, then slaughtered by his hand, and his hand alone. But first, his body needed rest.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ayo! This got done much faster than I thought it would LMAO
> 
> Anyway, for those of you who read the original, this is where the plot will start to differ quite a bit. 
> 
> If you enjoy this chapter, please comment! It fuels me to write more :)

Morning came, with all that entails. In the midst of her freshly awakened delirium, Jean was sure that the previous night's events had just been a strange dream. She'd been known to have dreams like that, especially when she was stressed. _The paranoia induced by the news I listened to on the way home must have been the basis, she told_ herself. She _had_ been exhausted and what she did in that dream was absolutely ridiculous. Never in a million years would she be so stupid as to do what she did. That would be like one of those foolish horror story protagonists that Jolene liked to tell her about. With a light chuckle, Jean changed out of her pajamas into the brown sweater and jeans she liked wear on cool mornings like this. There were plenty of things to do today, but none of them could be done on an empty stomach, so off to the kitchen it was. 

As she reached the bottom of the stairs, the living room came into view, and suddenly her train of thought came to a screeching halt. The coveralls, with their dark stains and tears, lay on the floor, mocking her for her stupidity. Their owner, however, was absent, with no sign of his presence. Jean's heart began to beat far too fast in her chest as her mind raced with all the things that could go wrong. She turned suddenly to leave the room and crashed into a solid mass, stunning her for a moment. At once, she was hit with a wave of embarrassment as she was pressed against the chest of her uninvited guest.

“Oh! Excuse me, I didn't see you there,” She exclaimed, taking a step back from the man. Now, in the daylight, she could take the moment to realize how tall he was. He was about a whole foot taller taller than her, built like a football player, and, when she'd been pressed against him, solid muscle. “Um, I, well, I'm going to be making myself some breakfast. Would you like to join me in the kitchen?” He didn't answer, unsurprisingly, but she could feel his presence as she moved toward the other room. Her mind was a storm as she flipped an egg in the skillet. _What am I even doing?_ She wondered, _I don't know who the hell this guy is or what he did last night before he broke in._

Jean set a plate of eggs and toast in front of the stranger, then sat across from him with her own steaming plate. The air was heavy with tension as they sat, the man staring at Jean as she struggled to force her mouth to form words. Neither of them reach for their food and Jean feels the need to squirm in her seat. She spots her notebook and pen.

“Ah, I- Um, I never caught you name,” she pushed the paper and writing instrument toward him gently, “Mine's Jeanette. Jeanette Parrish. Well, I just go by Jean, because that's what everyone calls me.” She stuttered out. She would almost feel embarrassed if he weren't watching her in such an intimidating way. Like an owl watching a mouse scurry across the forest floor, waiting for the moment to swoop down with its talons bared.

_Stop that_ , she thought to herself, _you're working yourself up over nothing_. The little voice of common sense returned, _Or not. He very well could be dangerous. After all, how many good men just break into a person's home covered in blood, refusing to speak?_ Feeling a bit overwhelmed by the thoughts racing in her head, Jean pushed herself up from the seat a bit too forcefully, nearly knocking her half eaten breakfast off the table. She needed air. Somewhere without his eyes on her, forcing her mind to spin wild thoughts. She went outside to the utility shed, a basket of dirty laundry (she'd grabbed the filthy jumpsuit without thinking on her way out) pressed to her hip as she exited. The washing machine was set up to cycle and she leaned against it as it filled with water.

She let out a shaky breath, tapping her fingers against the cold metal as she calmed. The machine hummed and shook as it worked, the rhythm of it lulling her into a sort of relaxing trance, broken by the buzz signaling the cycle's completion. On autopilot, she removed the garments from the washer's drum and took them to the line, performing the repetitive motion of hanging them up to dry. When done, she went back inside, seeing no sign of the man when she did. He wasn't in the kitchen, where she had left him, the only sign of him being on the table, where his empty plate sat beside the notebook. Jean was amazed to see a name written down on the paper in a childish, unpracticed scrawl. “Michael,” she read softly to herself. _Well, that answers one thing_ , she thought, _but leaves a lot more for me to wonder about._

Michael watched from threshold undetected as the woman, Jean, flit around the kitchen tidying things up and washing the plates and silverware. She moved with purpose and care, reminding him much of the few nurses who cared for him in the sanitarium. One question kept coming to him, however: how stupid was this woman? When she first saw him, she did not scream or beg, or even run away. No, this one stood her ground against him, a thing of pure evil, silent and horrific. Admittedly, it intrigued him, her strangeness. He realized that she lived alone, yet appeared no older than his escaped prey, Laurie. Young women didn't tend to live alone, only old women and men did. She would have been an easy kill, had he chosen to do so.

Why hadn't he? Well he hadn't wanted to, of course. Why hadn't he, though? Enough. He wouldn't waste time on this line of thought for longer than he needed to. _Only because you have no answer_ , The Shape spoke. He supposed that was true. He felt the same urges he had when seeing those girls Laurie surrounded herself with. The same urge he felt when he was young, seeing the life leave Judith. Jean was beautiful, and there was only one thing a devil could ever do to beautiful things: destroy them.

Jean felt eyes on her back as she put the clean, dry plates in the cabinet. She twirled around to see Michael in the threshold, head cocked ever so slightly to the side. She started to move again, not even noticing the pause she made in her movements. She walked past Michael into the living room, deciding to straighten the book shelves and sweep the floor. The usual intense focus she would fall into refused to come, the presence of another body too distracting for her to push from her mind. _Why won't he leave,_ she wondered quietly.

Eventually, she gave up on the endeavor, choosing to flop onto the couch, frustrated. She picked up the book on the end table. _Well, I could always start that book Jo recommended to me,_ she considered as she opened the book. She'd only gotten a few lines in when she felt breath on her shoulder, causing her to hesitantly look to the source. Michael stood, head tilted like a confused pup. She swallowed and pointed to the book, “Have you read this one? My coworker said it was good, but I'm not very fond of scary stories,” she said, “but, if you wanted, I could read it aloud and we could experience it together? You might want to sit down if that's the case.”

Truthfully, she just wanted him to stop hovering uncomfortably behind her like a cat ready to pounce. To her surprise, he did, though a bit closer than she was comfortable with, a closeness which was increased by gravity pulling her to the low spot made by his superior weight. She cleared her throat, “Well, I suppose I should start then,” a pause as she readied herself to read, “ _Chapter one: Job Interview. Jack Torrance thought: Officious little prick...”_

She read until she could read no more, Michael sitting as still as a cold marble slab next to her on the old couch. When she looked up, throat scratching from the use, she noticed that it was quite dark outside and, upon looking at the clock, realized that she had missed dinnertime and her stomach was quick to confirm. Dog-earring the page she was reading, Jean set the book back on the table, rushing to the kitchen to get something to eat. She eats a plate of leftover meatloaf that had been in the refrigerator, and left a plate for Michael, should he decide to have some. With a yawn, she turned off the light in the kitchen, slinking up the stairs and looking over to the couch where Michael still sat.

The bedroom door was shut firmly behind her and she turned the lock to give her peace of mind while she slept. _Are you so sure that will keep you safe,_ her common sense questions, _when he's so close by?_ She pushed it from her mind, it's all she could do if she wanted to sleep. Besides, becoming paranoid wouldn't serve her well either. The bed wasn't comfortable enough to counter her stress and confusion over the situation she'd gotten herself into.

Jean awoke abruptly, horribly aware on this morning that the previous day and night were not, in fact, dreams. She was also horribly aware that she would have to leave her room at some point that day. _Oh shit,_ she thought _, I have to work tonight._ Snuggling further into the soft comforter on the bed, she grumbled internally. She didn't hate her job, but she sure as hell didn't like it. Annoying, entitled customers weren't the only thing she disliked about it, but they were a big part of it. The next man to call her “sugar tits”, “babydoll”, or anything overly familiar was going to have to get her fist surgically removed from his face. She was a waitress, goddamnit, not a whore! And even whores deserved more respect than that. Both she and they were just working women, after all. How could that ever be undeserving of basic human dignity?

Rolling out of bed, she hissed at the cold hardwood under her bare feet. _The weather is cooling rather quickly_ , she noted as she put on slippers, unlocked the door, and braced herself as she tiptoed down the stairs. There was no sign of Michael, which seemed to be the norm with him. She half expected to run into him again as she had the previous morning. He wasn't in the kitchen either. Or the bathroom. Or the closet. Not hiding behind her like the shadowy creature in an old monster movie. Finally, she checked the backyard, only to see that the man's coveralls were missing and in there place the clothes he'd borrowed had been lazily draped over the line.

It was- surreal in a way. He was gone just as abruptly as he'd appeared. It was almost sad to have him gone, in a strange way. The house felt emptier, like it was missing something. She shook her head. No, this was the way it was meant to be. She could only hope that he didn't decide to return. _That settles that,_ she thought to herself, _now I can just live my life in peace._ All that left for her to do was get some breakfast and enjoy some time to herself. Same thing as every day. Eggs and toast. Get dressed. Tidy the house. Sit and read. She felt odd picking up _The Shining_ again. It's rude to read ahead when you're trying to share a book after all. She put it down without a second thought. Picking up an old favorite, she began to read it all over again. It must have been the- what? Tenth time? Something like that. It was a comforting book to read, after all.

Soon enough, it came time to ready herself for the long shift ahead. Her clean, wrinkle-free pink blouse and black skirt reflected back at her in the mirror as she pulled her hair into a half ponytail in the back. She dragged herself to the car, an old gray clunker that had to be from the last decade or so. Jean didn't really know. It was granddad's from when he was a younger man, but she remembered how her brain would shut down every time he tried to talk cars at her. At least she knew how to change tires and oil, the mechanic could worry about everything else.

The door to the diner section of the truck stop swung open as Jean walked in. There was only one patron sitting at a table, a plate of meat and potatoes set before him. He looked up at Jean and gave her a friendly nod, which she returned with a smile. At least he wouldn't be a nuisance tonight. She walked back into the kitchen where Jolene leaned against a counter top as she chatted with Gus, the cook. He was a big man who's heart was as big as his biceps. He was an amazing cook too and, oftentimes, it made Jean wonder why he hadn't become a chef at some big fancy restaurant. He noticed her and grinned.

“Hey Jean, did you have a good day off?” he asked, deep voice carrying over to her. Jolene seemed to light up, turning to look at Jean.

“Yeah, it's never as fun around here without you!” she said. Jean smiled.

“Oh, y'know, same old, same old. I started reading that book you recommended to me though!”

“Really? What do you think? I know you're not one for scary stories, but I thought you might like this one.”

“Pretty good so far, actually. I didn't think I'd like it, but I've enjoyed it quite a bit. I like the atmosphere the author's set.” Jolene smiled at that.

“That makes me really happy, Jean. Now if only you'd just-”

The redhead was cut off by the jingle of the door as a customer stepped into the establishment. Jean flashed her a small smile as she made her way over to where the man sat down. She knew exactly what Jo was about to say next and felt as though she'd dodged a bullet when she got away. Now she'd just have to be sure she wasn't hit by the ricochet when they took their break. “Now sir, what can I get you?”

Finally, a quiet moment came where no customers sat in the dining area. Jean took the moment to join Jo as she left out the back door. Jolene stood in the light of the small bulb that flickered above the back door. She puffed away at a cigarette that she clenched between her peach toned lips. A grin quirked up to her lips when she noticed Jean, who sighed as she prepared for the usual lecture Jo liked to give her.

“Oh Jean, you wouldn't believe the guy that came in here yesterday,” Jo began, taking a pull off the dwindling white stick, “guy waltzes in like he thinks he's hot shit. Couldn't be any older than, what? Sixteen, I'd guess. Just some dumb fucking kid. And he says to me _Ay, dollface, how's 'bout you get me a beer?”_ She throws her hair around, “As if he thinks we won't card him, ha! I tell him about as much and say I'll bring him a soda, so Mr Tough Guy gets pissy, but agrees. When I leave to go get it though, the little bastard grabs my ass! What a pig, am I right?

Well, I know he's lucky that you weren't here because you would've been on him like that!” she snaps for effect, “well, Gus just threw him out and made sure I was ok, but still, what a little creep!” She finishes, throwing her hands up in the air as she did.

“Wow,” Jean began, a bit confused as she always was when Jo would go off on a rant like that, “the nerve of some people! You're right, I would've taught him some manners right then and there. Little bastard.” She swore.

“It's no big deal, I guess. It's not like I'm hurt or anything.”

“That's not the point! You know I can't stand when people like that act like they can just do whatever the hell they want.”

“I know, but there's no need to worry about it. Gus took care of it.”

“Not as harshly as he should have.”

“Well, you know that's just not how he rolls.”

“I do.”

“Now-”

“Oh no.”

“Don't you _Oh no_ me! You didn't call my buddy Robert back!” She threw her hands to her hips, her brows furrowed.

“Jo, please-”

“You promised me that you'd give him a chance, Jean.”

“I did. We just didn't hit it off, I guess.”

“Ugh, that doesn't mean you get to be rude to the guy. The best thing to do is tell him up front.”

“I'm sorry,” and she was. Jo was just trying to help her, in her own way. This was the third guy she'd set Jean up with. It was sweet of her, but the help was unneeded and very much unwanted.

“I'm just- Well, I'm just worried about you. I don't want you to end up a lonely old woman, bitter because you never found anyone.”

“According to you, I'm there already,” Jean said, chuckling.

“Laugh it up, but when that happens you'll think: _Oh, how I wish I listened to Jolene! She's always been so smart, why did I disregard her advice!”_ she danced about dramatically as she said this, throwing an arm over her head with the last word, making Jean snort-laugh.

“Alright, alright, you have a point.”

“Yes, I do! Now do you promise to keep an open mind?”

“Of course.”

“Pinkie promise?”

“Yes,” she said, holding out the finger, which Jo hooked with her own. The door opened gently and Gus stopped it with his foot.

“Something I missed?” he asked softly.

“No, no,” Jo laughed, “nothing at all!” Gus rolled his eyes.

“A'right then, well your break's up, ladies,” he said, holding the door open more so that they could enter.

Jean felt light as she drove home from work. Her shoulders were relaxed as the blackness surrounding her passed by. Talking to Jo and Gus was like therapy for her. She could almost push Michael and his intrusion from her mind. Almost. She was still a little worried that he'd show back up in the night. Thankfully, there was no figure on her couch when she unlocked and opened the door (making _very_ sure to lock it back after her). There was no man sat at her table, no towering mass in her corner with intense black eye holes that made her feel weak and small. And that was how it stayed for days. That's how it stayed when she woke up to eat eggs and toast. That's how it was when she went to work and when she got home. For about two weeks.

She got home after a late shift, more tired than she had been in a long while. It had been the stress, she guessed, of Jo reminding her that she had no plans for the holidays that were rapidly approaching. No loving husband and in laws to fill her home with joyful voices and good memories. Being alone had its downsides, it seemed. She flopped straight into bed with a muffled groan of annoyance, then fell asleep with ease. It was also with ease, however, that she was awoken. First slowly by the creaking of her window and the cool breeze that came through it, but then abruptly by the sudden presence at the end of her bed.

The foreboding black shadow just stood there, the moonlight obscuring the figure in silhouette. She at once felt panic rush through her veins as she kicked her legs out. They connected with the figure's abdomen, forcing a deep strangled grunt from it. She flipped out of the bed, staggering to her feet as they tried to carry her to the exit. Her arm was grabbed, causing her to slip and nearly fall, had she not been pulled roughly to the figure's solid chest. She struck out with her free hand wildly, which was caught in a vice-like grip and, using the leverage gained from having her hands in its grasp, the figure pushed her roughly against the wall, pinning her and knocking the air from her lungs. The figure breathed heavily.

Jean squirmed helplessly against the wall, her torso bared vulnerably to her attacker. She squeezed her eyes shut, turning her head away and holding her breath as she waited for the inevitable. When nothing happened she opened her eyes and looked back, catching the sight of a telltale white mask and blue coveralls. “What _the hell,_ Michael?” She breathed through a clenched jaw. He responded with a head tilt, as though he saw no issue with the situation at hand.

“You can't just _do_ that!” She yelled, which amused him because he could, and he _did._

“Can I at least have my arms back?” She asked, as he pretended not to hear her, keeping her arms in his cruel grip.

“I'm sorry I kicked you, but you have to understand that I was afraid I would really be killed- Or worse!” Were he any other man, Michael would have chuckled. _Not yet, Jean,_ the Shape supplied for him. That would have to wait. Regardless, he released her wrists, which she rubbed gratefully. She left the room, pausing to look over her shoulder expectantly, almost like she was waiting for him to follow her. And so he did, down the stairs and into the living room where she plopped herself down on the couch. He sat beside her, feeling as she leaned against him at first, then readjusted herself on the couch.

“It's been a while, huh?” She said softly, peering at him nervously. “Well, I'll admit, I can't get back to sleep with all this excitement. I'd like to read our book. Would you like that?” He tilted his head, first to one side, then to the other, which she took as a yes of sorts. She cleared her throat, then picked up the book, “Alright-y, where were we? Aha! There!” And she began to read.

Michael didn't pay much attention to what she was reading to him. On occasion, he would tune back in to her words to catch bits of the plot. Not that it interested him, but her voice, on the other hand- It was mesmerizing. He'd heard women's voices before. Obviously. Usually they held the tone of disinterested disgust, much like the nurses at the sanitarium. Sometimes it was in the midst of a pleasured moan, much like his sister, Judith mere moments before her life ended. Best of all was their fear, their pain, their _death_. The sound of it intoxicating, filling him with a sense of control and satisfaction. Something about Jean's voice, however, was very different.

When he heard her voice, regardless of what he would think on first seeing her (that being the desire to snuff her out like a candle), he would begin to feel a sense of calm wash over him. He felt like a child again, hearing his mother speak to him in soft tones. Mother. She wasn't quite like his mother, this woman, but it was a closer comparison than to either of his sisters. She was caring. Not like the nurses, with their fake chipper tones and needles filled with numbing drugs. No, she was real. For a moment, when she bandaged his wounds, he remembered Sunday school and the stories of angels he was told. _Is this an angel?_ He asked the Shape. _No_ , it responded angrily, _this is flesh and blood. This is for you to rip and shred. To break into a million pieces. But not now, not yet. Now you wait. Now you remain patient._

And so he did.


End file.
